Failed Attempts To Fly
by Unoriginality
Summary: Work may just kill him yet.
1. Failed Attempts To Fly

"Edward!"

Edward jumped, spilling some of the valuable rocket fuel down the front of his shirt. He gave Alfons a sour look over his shoulder and handed over the flask. "Here, _you_ make more. I have to get cleaned up now."

Alfons sighed as he took the beaker, scowling at Edward. "Why aren't you wearing a filter mask?" he demanded from behind his own mask.

Edward was more focused on the fuel down his shirt than pulling up his mask. "I have my goggles on," he protested, grabbing a towel and trying to sop up the worst of the spill.

"That won't protect you from the fumes, you idiot," Alfons snapped, setting the flask down on the table Edward had been working at. "Those fumes are toxic, you could get yourself killed."

"I can also tell that something's wrong with the formula that way," Edward protested, tossing aside the towel. "It's too sweet. I know this formula's your baby, but you screwed up somewhere."

Alfons stared at the flask. "You're sure?"

Edward nodded, taking off the goggles and the forgotten filter mask and setting them down on the table. "I'm sure. That's why the rocket's been blowing up halfway up. We want ignition, not explosion. Try reworking it. I'm going home to change."

With a briefly concerned look in Edward's direction, then a look of consternation at the flask, Alfons waved him off. "I'll see you when I get home," he said vaguely.

Wandering home, Edward could still smell the awful fuel, and he resisted the urge to wrinkle up his nose at the stench. God, that was bitterly sweet, almost like death itself. "Goddamnit," he muttered to himself as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. "I probably won't be able to clean this up."

Well, any way it went, he also needed a shower to get the smell off of him, and a shower sounded good about then. They'd have to start from scratch on that stupid fuel and that was a sore point of stress on both of them. A shower would work out some of the tension, and later, when Alfons came home, he could pounce him and work out the rest.

Edward was just reattaching his false arm when the front door opened, and Alfons's voice reached him, greeting him. "I'm in the bedroom!" he called, snapping the arm into place and then carefully hooking up the straps around his chest.

"Are you dressed?" Alfons asked, still out in the hallway.

"No, why?" Edward desperately hoped Alfons hadn't brought home a sponsor or a teammate. He had plans that wouldn't mesh well with having guests.

Alfons appeared in the doorway, tossing a notebook down on the ground. "Good." He shrugged out of his suspenders and sat down on the bed next to Edward. Then the bastard smacked Edward on the back of the head. "That's for not wearing your filter mask today," Alfons grumped at him. "Now put those hands of yours to use and massage my shoulders. You dropped a headache on my lap today."

Edward scooted back on the bed and slid over behind Alfons as Alfons took off his shirt. Edward crossed his legs and started rubbing his boyfriend's shoulders. "I icould/i be rubbing something else, you know," he pointed out, a bit grumbly that he wasn't already.

"That comes next," Alfons said, leaning back against Edward's hands. "Shoulders first."

"What am I, your little housewife?" Edward demanded. "Should I rub your feet next?"

Alfons glanced back at him, making a show of considering that. Edward slugged him on the arm, then went back to massaging his shoulders. "Don't even think it," he said. That made his boyfriend laugh, then he groaned when Edward found a knot in his muscles. "Jesus, Alfons, what were you doing while I was working on that fuel?"

Alfons winced. "Carrying heavy engine components, what else?"

Edward paused in what he was doing to get up onto his knees and get a bit more leverage for working the knot out. "Next time, leave that to Rolf," he said.

Another wince as Edward had to grind his fist particularly hard into the knot, and then Alfons looked up at him. "He probably gets muscle knots too, Edward, and I don't think he has anyone to massage them out for him. Ow, Jesus, Edward, not so hard!"

Edward got a wicked smirk. "That's not what you were saying last night." He caught the corner of Alfons's mouth with his own before returning to what he was doing. "Stop squirming, I've almost got it."

"I'd be a lot more cooperative if I didn't feel your dick pressed against my back," Alfons protested, biting his lip hard as Edward dug into the last of the knot.

"Just be glad it's not more distracting right now," Edward said with a laugh. After another minute, he sat back down. "There. That should be the worst of it, anyway." He wrapped his arms around Alfons's shoulders when the younger man leaned back against him.

"Mm. You smell nice," Alfons said, closing his eyes and turning his head on Edward's shoulder to face him.

"I _did_ just take a shower," Edward pointed out, then kissed Alfons gently. "And there are better positions for you to be in. Come on, out of those pants before I rip them off."

"I can't believe this," Alfons grumbled.

Edward looked away from their test rocket to look at him. "What?"

"That second formula you helped me with is working better than my original one." Alfons looked a bit put out that his own genius wasn't enough. Edward laughed at him, which devolved into a coughing fit. Alfons looked at him. "Still have that cold?" he asked.

Edward managed a nod through his coughing fit. "Damn thing's been hanging on the last two weeks, you'd think it would be over by now," he griped. Alfons patted his shoulder, then turned his attention back to the rocket on its test burn. In the back of his throat, Edward felt something slimy and warm caught and he coughed again, this time hacking up some of the gunk that had been infecting his lungs like an unwelcome guest.

He made a face as he opened his hand to survey the damage, and promptly froze, staring in horror at a spattering of blood. Closing his hand quickly, he looked at Alfons, not about to share this news and worry his boyfriend.

"I'm going to head home," he croaked as the rocket burn died off. "See if I can't kick this cough."

Alfons gave him an unworried smile. "All right. Stay out of trouble."

Edward gave him a weak smile that he prayed hid his nervousness as he headed for the exit. He took off his glove and wiped off his hand with the clean part and ditched it in the trash on his way.

The first place he went to was his father's home. It was a house, nicer than anything Edward and Alfons could hope to live in short of just moving in with his father, which was out of the question unless absolutely necessary. A university professor who was also a British spy probably made significantly more than a tiny group of rocket scientists with few sponsors.

He knocked roughly on the door, hoping his father was home. He almost gave up and went to the university to find him when the door opened. "Edward, what're you doing here?" his father said, blinking at him from behind those ridiculous glasses.

"Can I come in?" Edward said sullenly, not really wanting to be there, but unsure where else to turn. Coughing up blood wasn't exactly a small thing he could just shrug off. This world had new diseases he had no immunity to; he'd spent the first month or so of his time there utterly sick with just about everything. The threat of tuberculosis scared him stupid, and that was the first suspect.

"Of course. You know I always welcome your visits," Hohenheim said, letting Edward in.

"You won't welcome this one," Edward said, stepping in as Hohenheim closed the door behind him.

Hohenheim blinked. "Bad news?"

"Something like that. I think I'm sick with something." Edward gave his father a challenging stare, daring him to say something smart.

Hohenheim gave him a solemn look. "How sick?"

Edward ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I was coughing up blood earlier."

That actually got a reaction out of the normally passive old man. "Oh dear. You should go to a doctor, Edward. I suppose I don't need to tell you that's a sign of-"

"TB, I know," Edward said a bit irritably. "How am I supposed to go to the doctor? I don't have money."

Hohenheim raised an eyebrow. "Thus, why you came to me."

Edward shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I don't like asking, you know that," he said, hiding the rest of the reason. He'd wanted the comfort of a parent, and all he'd found was the pragmatic reasoning of a scientist. He supposed his father had shown concern, but it was frustrating, trying to get emotion out of him. If it had been Edward's mother, she would've hugged him and told him it'd be all right, but get to a doctor anyway.

Maybe he never really outgrew needing a parent.

"I know you don't, but I like helping when you let me, Edward," his father said as he stepped into the other room. Edward followed, feeling a little mollified about his father's previous attitude. He already knew his father loved him, but sometimes the old man had a frustrating way of showing it.

Edward stuck his hands in his pockets while his father dug around in his wallet, pulling out several very large bills. "I think this should be enough for the university doctor," Hohenheim said, handing over the money.

Edward took it, staring at his father. "The university doc? That's pretty high end, Dad."

Hohenheim put his hand on the back of Edward's head. "I want to see you get better. That means the best doctor I can think of. You've got family waiting for you back home, and a boyfriend to introduce to them."

Edward flushed a little. "So you know about that, huh?"

Dropping his hand, Hohenheim smiled. "You act exactly the way I did when I met your mother. It's subtle, but I knew what to look for. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me, and you're not acting out of sorts so nobody will guess. You're safe."

Looking down at his feet, Edward tried to hide his immense relief. "Thanks, Dad. I'll... I'd better go, if I'm going to catch the doc today."

"Let me know how it turns out, and if you need more money for tests," his father said.

Edward nodded. "I will." He turned and hurried out, heading for the university.

He caught the doctor just in time. "I'm sorry, young man, I'm about to close up for the day," Doctor Freidman said.

Taking a second to cough as his lungs rebelled, Edward looked up at the doctor. "Please, just one last patient. I have the money."

Freidman sighed. "It's not about the money. You can make an appointment with my receptionist for tomorrow. I'll be here."

The morbid part of Edward thought that he might not be, but that was stupid. "Please, as a favor to Professor Hohenheim?" he begged.

That pulled Freidman up short. "Professor Hohenheim? He sent you?"

"I'm his son," Edward said, gripping the money tightly in his pocket, feeling terrible for having to throw his father's name around. But whatever would get him in and his fears reassured that this was not something deadly. Maybe it was just a terrible case of bronchitis or something. But he wouldn't know until the doctor saw him, and the waiting would kill him faster than whatever he had.

Freidman sighed. "All right, come on in. Let's see what's wrong with you." Edward sighed in relief, following the doctor into the office. "So, what seems to be the matter?" the doctor asked after instructing Edward to take a seat.

Edward hopped up onto the exam table. "I've had a cough the last two weeks," he said. "And today, I finally coughed up some crap. Problem was, it was blood."

The doctor paused and looked at him ."Blood. You're sure it was blood and not bloodied sputrrm? If you've had a nose bleed lately, that can happen."

Edward shook his head. "It was blood. I've bled enough times to recognize it."

"Troublemaker as a child?" the doctor asked with an amused smile that didn't entirely hide the concern on his face.

Edward shrugged. "Got into an accident in Dad's lab. My right arm and left leg are prosthetics."

Freidman raised an eyebrow. "You move remarkably well for having false limbs."

"My dad made them for me," Edward said a little evasively. "They function as a regular arm and leg, for the most part. They're a little slower to respond than I'd like, but beggars can't be choosers."

"Astounding. Well, I suppose your father is considered an erratic genius, leave it to him to come up with something like this and not share with the world." Freidman shook his head, then ordered Edward out of his shirt.

Edward complied, exposing the old scars and the straps of his prosthetic for the doctor to see. After taking a moment to examine the port and strap, the doctor got down to work, listening to Edward's heart and lungs. "Hm. Your lungs sound wet, like I'd expect for coughing up blood. I want to take an x-ray, and a few blood tests. Have you been exposed to anything toxic lately?"

Uh-oh. Edward looked down at his feet. "Some rocket fuel formula. I was trying to tell what was wrong with it by the smell."

Freidman gave him a foul look. "That kind of thing would get you killed, if it isn't already. Come on, let's get those tests done."

Breakfast was interrupted by a phone call. Edward nearly upended his chair to get to it first. "I got it," he assured Alfons, who watched him curiously, but went back to eating as Edward picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Edward? This is Doctor Freidman at the university."

Edward took the phone around the corner, stretching the cord to its limit. "Yes? Any results?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"You're not sick, not by any germ or virus. If you were, your immune system is completely ignoring it, which I find hard to believe. It's not tuberculosis. I'm not finding the cavities in your lungs that you'd see with that, and again, your immune system is not reacting," the doctor said.

Edward sighed in relief. "Well, that's good. What is it, then?"

"It's that fuel you inhaled," Freidman said. "There's signs of damage to the lungs, corrosion damage. And there's no way to reverse it."

Edward frowned, avoiding thinking about the worst. "So, okay, damage is done, what do I have to do to stop it, besides not sniff more chemicals?"

"There is no way of stopping it, Edward," Freidman said. "It's going to progress until it kills you. I'd say, two, three years' time."

The bottom dropped out of Edward's stomach as his brain tried to process that. "What?"

"You're dying, Edward, and I can't do anything to stop it," the doctor said. "I'm sorry. I can come up with some medicines to deal with the symptoms, but the progression of corrosion is out of my hands."

Edward felt like he was running on automatic all of a sudden. "How soon can you get the medicine?" he asked.

"Tomorrow. I hate to say this, but it won't be cheap." Freidman sounded genuinely sympathetic.

"That's fine," Edward said, his voice hollow. "I'll be by to pick it up. Thanks, Doc." He stayed where he was, leaning against the wall, barely gripping the phone as he tried to come to terms with the news. There had to be some sort of mistake. He'd already died once, and here he was, alive again. But that had been so sudden, this was something more insidious, creeping in and slowly stealing his breath like a childhood demon.

"Edward?"

Alfons's voice snapped him out of his shock, and he jumped, composing himself and stepping around the corner and right into Alfons. "What?" he snapped irritably, pushing by his boyfriend enough to hang up the phone.

Alfons frowned. "Edward, what was that about?"

"Just the doctor," Edward said, trying and failing to be evasive as he tried to sidestep his boyfriend to get back to his breakfast.

"You went to see the doctor?" Alfons stared at him. "You never see the doctor for anything. What's really going on?"

"It's just bronchitis," Edward said. "I thought I'd hit up my old man for some money to see a doctor about it so I can just get better and get back to work."

That seemed to pacify Alfons a bit. "All right," he said dubiously, but went back to his meal.

After a few minutes of eating in silence, Edward started poking at his eggs. "I'm going to stay home a couple days," he said. "It's bad enough you might catch it from me, but I don't need to spread it to the others, too. I'm picking up some medicines tomorrow, and don't worry, I'll hit up my old man for those, too. They said the medicines would be expensive."

"As long as they help," Alfons said. "Are you not hungry? I wouldn't blame you if you're not."

Edward looked up from his poking. "Hm? No, it's fine, I'm just. I never handled being sick very well. I get bored." He damn near stabbed the plate in his frustration. This lie would only work for so long before he had to confess what was really going on, admitting to what was happening _and_ the fact that he lied.

He almost changed his mind and told Alfons everything then and there, but he was too scared to, if he were honest with himself. Telling someone meant admitting it was true. He wasn't ready to do that yet.

Alfons smiled with a sigh. "And god help us all when you get bored. Just don't try to cook. I'll come back and make you something."

"Naw, I think I'll just go over to Dad's place for the day. Make him sick." He flashed his boyfriend an ornery grin.

Alfons gave him a derisive look. "You're a terrible man, Edward. Remind me again why I love you."

"Because I'm that damn good-looking?" Edward answered with a shrug.

"Egoist," Alfons accused. "And before you say it, yes, I already knew that, I was just restating a fact." He got up. "I have to get going. Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

Edward nodded. "I'll be fine. Like I said, I'll just go over to Dad's place."

After breakfast dishes were taken care of, Alfons kissed Edward goodbye and once again warned him against cooking or getting into trouble in general. Edward gave him fifteen minutes to comfortably get to work before he grabbed his coat and headed to his father's.

The whole way there, he wondered what exactly he was going to say. He was hesitant to repeat the doctor's words, but how much more succinctly could he say it? He didn't iwant/i to say it, didn't want to admit it, didn't want to make it a reality.

But two people in this world deserved the truth, and he'd already lied to one of them. He may as well be honest with the one that had paid for him to go to the doctor in the first place.

He knocked on the door, at once hoping and dreading that his father was home. After a moment, his father answered the door, dressed to go to work. "Edward? What is it? What did the doctor say?"

Edward felt old as he looked up at his father. "You're going to want to be sitting down for this," he said quietly. "I'll understand if you'd rather go to work."

Hohenheim put a hand on Edward's shoulder. "My children come first. Come inside." He stepped aside, letting Edward in and closing the door behind him. He settled himself on a chair across from the couch. "All right, what'd the doctor have to say?"

Edward sank down onto the couch, looking down at the ground. "It's... I inhaled some of the fumes form the fuel formula," he said quietly, not confessing that he'd done it on purpose. "There's corrosion damage."

"Oh, Edward. I've told you about that line of work," his father said, scolding lightly. "How bad is it?"

Refusing to look up, Edward tried to make his mouth work. "I'm dying." Saying the words made them real and he swallowed tightly, struggling against tears.

Hohenheim was silent and Edward chanced a glance up at him. His father was looking at him with a distant look before he slipped his fingers under his glasses and wiped at them. "I see. How long?"

Taking a couple unsteady breaths, Edward looked away again. "The doc said another two, three years."

Hohenheim sighed. "I'd hoped I'd never go through this again," he murmured. "Well, no help for it now. Have you told Alfons yet?"

Edward shook his head. "I told him I had a case of bronchitis, that's why I've been coughing the last couple weeks. I have some medicines I have to pick up tomorrow. I hate to ask again, but they're expensive."

"That's fine, Edward, I'll gladly pay for them." Without warning, his father knelt in front of him and pulled him into a tight hug. It felt like his world went topsy-turvy; he couldn't remember his father hugging him since he was maybe four years old.

"Dad?" Hohenheim pulled back, giving his son a watery look. "God, are you crying?" He was certain he'd never seen his father cry.

His father sniffed, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes. "My son is dying, that is cause for tears," he said. "I'll help however I can, Edward. I'll pay for these medicines if they'll help."

Edward felt uncomfortable. "They just help with symptoms, not the progression," he said. "I can go without them."

"And you'll not be able to work on getting home to your brother in time if you ignore the symptoms," Hohenheim pointed out. "Let me get you the medicines. When are they going to be available?"

"Tomorrow," Edward said, his voice feeling empty, devoid of emotion.

"I'll pick them up for you," his father said. "I shouldn't have to say that you should tell Alfons soon."

"Yeah, I know. Hey." He finally looked up at the man. "If I don't make it home in time and he's trapped here with you, you'll look after him, right? He doesn't have anyone else." Which was why he wasn't willing to tell him just yet; he wanted Alfons to have the illusion that they'd be together for a long time to come for just a little while longer.

Hohenheim smiled faintly. "I will, Edward. I give you my word." The older man studied Edward for a moment. "Did you want to stay here today? I can call in."

Edward gave him a helpless look. "If it's not too much trouble? If you need to go in, I can go back to my place."

Hohenheim shook his head. "I'll call in. My son needs me. My sons have always come first."

Edward smiled faintly. "Thanks, Dad."

Edward didn't let himself stay away from work for long; he wanted to return the next day after picking up his medicines, but Alfons wouldn't let him, threatened to tie him to the bed if he didn't rest himself. He gave in for about three days, then bullied his way back to work, determined to get home now more than ever, and quickly. He didn't want to die in this world, without seeing Al again.

Alfons reluctantly let him get away with working, despite still coughing, but the medicines kicked in within a few days and the cough subsided for the most part.

"You seem like you're finally getting better," Alfons said quietly, pressed up against Edward's back as they lay in bed.

Dying sunlight filtered through their curtains as the thin material fluttered in the early night breeze. Edward stretched languidly in the red light, then curled back against Alfons tighter. "Mm," he said noncommittally, neither confirming nor denying that statement.

Alfons's lips brushed the shell of Edward's ear. "Are you tired?"

Edward smiled, knowing where this was heading. They'd been in a forced celibacy since Edward took 'sick', in large part thanks to too much concern on Alfons's side. "Not _that_ tired," he said, turning slightly to look at his boyfriend. "You had plans?"

"Mm." Alfons leaned over and captured his lips softly, bare touches of flesh against flesh, darting his tongue out to run against Edward's lips. Edward purred quietly in the back of his throat, returning the kisses when allowed by Alfons's tongue. "I love you, Edward," he whispered.

Edward smiled, returning a kiss before nuzzling his boyfriend's cheek. "Love you too." Alfons nuzzled him back, pressing against him. Edward moaned quietly. "Do you want a condom?"

Alfons kissed him again, his hand sliding along Edward's hip. "I want to focus on you, first," he said. "We'll get to that. Have some patience."

"Hmph, patience, you say."

Alfons hummed in the back of his throat and kissed Edward one more time before moving between Edward's legs. Air became a precious commodity as Alfons worked, until his lungs rebelled violently in a red haze, pulling him far away from the moment and suffocating him.

He barely noticed Alfons crawling back up to his side at an alarming speed as he curled up on his side again and hacked. His whole chest felt on fire, burned and ached.

"Edward, are you okay?" Alfons demanded, nearly panicked. Edward took a stuttering breath, nodded, then continued to cough until he was forced to sit up. Behind him, Alfons put his hands on Edward's shoulders. "Edward, this isn't bronchitis, it's lasted too long."

Shaking his head, Edward coughed again, then finally hacked up the blood that had been bothering his lungs. "Bronchitis can last months if the medicines can't kick the infection," he argued. Then he sighed. "But no, this isn't bronchitis."

Alfons moved to sit beside him. "What's going on, Edward?" Not looking at his boyfriend, Edward flipped on the bedside lamp and showed Alfons his bloodied hand. "Edward, Jesus, this is blood!"

"Yeah, I know," Edward said, using his clean hand to wipe his mouth. "My lungs are rotting. It was that chemical formula I inhaled." He struggled to breathe, this time because of forming tears of fear. "I know, I'm an idiot."

After a long moment of silence, Edward chanced a look over at his boyfriend. Alfons was staring at him, horrified. Finally, Alfons smacked him upside the head. "You idiot!" he shouted, then pulled Edward into a tight embrace. "You stupid idiot," he whispered this time. Edward leaned against him, closing his eyes. "How bad's the damage?"

"I'm dying," he confessed, breathing a bit unsteadily. "I have two, three years max."

Alfons opened his eyes, once again starring in horror at Edward, then teared up, looking away. "I see. Oh, Edward, no," he moaned, holding Edward tighter.

Edward bowed his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean- I'm sorry." He took a deep, shaky breath. "On the other hand, if I get back to my world before then, theoretically a red stone can heal me."

Alfons looked back at him. "Then we'll get you home," he said firmly.

"I thought you didn't believe in my world," Edward accused slightly, looking at him.

"I didn't," Alfons admitted. "But if that's your only hope, then I'll believe in God, if you asked me to."

"God doesn't exist, though," Edward argued. "My world does."

Alfons sighed. "Not the point, Edward. Stop being pedantic."

Edward almost pointed out that he wasn't being pedantic, he was being correct, but decided to let it go. He didn't want to argue, not now. "I should go wash my hands," he said, then pulled out of Alfons's grip and headed to the bathroom, leaving behind a stunned boyfriend.

He turned on the tap in the bathroom, waiting for it to heat up, staring at the water dully. It was out, his dirty little secret. He was dying. And telling his father and now Alfons made it real. He made a dive for the toilet and threw up, vomiting up his meager dinner as the reality crashed in on him. He was going to die. Well, yes, eventually, everyone did, but his time was short and he was only eighteen. He might never see his brother again. He was going to die in a horrible and painful way, drowning in his own blood.

The tap water still running covered up the sound of his crying. He was dying. In a foreign world he hated, he was dying.

And unless he could get home and quickly, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Pulling himself up with his mostly clean hand, he washed his hands and cleaned the sink from the blood he'd gotten on it. He took a drink of the hot water, scalding his mouth and not caring. It was better than the taste of vomit or blood.

With some reluctance, he made his way back to the bedroom, where Alfons was still sitting on the edge of the bed, his face in his hands. Edward stayed silent, watching Alfons's grief and wishing he could offer comfort. A horrible thought occurred to him, that Alfons might change his mind about them, might decide to distance himself to protect his heart from the inevitable loss.

He wasn't sure which was worse; the idea of dying, or the idea of losing Alfons. He shifted on his feet, ready to face the rejection, but not entirely sure how the easiest way to find out would be. Finally, he decided to just ask. "Is it over?" he asked quietly.

Alfons jumped, looking up red eyed and wet-faced. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his arm. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Are we over?" Edward said again, realizing that the way he'd previously put it wasn't terribly clear. "I wouldn't blame you if you decided to go, it's probably easier to distance yourself while you still can."

"What?" Alfons interrupted him. "God, no, Edward. I'm sticking by you through this. This isn't quits." He gave Edward a weak-looking smile and patted the bed beside him invitingly. Edward hesitated, then walked over, settling down next to Alfons. Alfons put an arm around Edward's shoulders and kissed the side of Edward's head. "I'm not giving upon you," he whispered, face buried in Edward's hair. "I love you. I'm in this until the end, whenever that may be." Then he pulled back. "Let's get some sleep, huh? You'll feel better with some rest."

Edward let himself be guided back into bed, curling up against Alfons's side as soon as they were settled. There was still the lingering fear that Alfons would change his mind, would decide that maybe distancing himself _would_ be better, but he tried to dismiss it.

Alfons put his arm around Edward, holding him close. "I love you," he whispered. "I'm not leaving you."

Satisfied for the moment, Edward nodded and sighed. "I love you, too. I wasn't trying to chase you off, I just. Would understand."

"But you'd be heartbroken," Alfons said. "Face it, you can't live without me." He flashed Edward a bratty grin, then kissed Edward's forehead. "I'm not leaving, and that's final, Edward. So don't worry about it, okay?"

Edward bit back a yawn. "All right," he said. "You're stuck with me now, you don't get to change your mind."

"Don't plan on it," Alfons said. "Now sleep."

"Are we there yet, Alfons?" Edward demanded, his vision dark from the blindfold his boyfriend had put on him as soon as they were in the car.

"Just about, Edward, have some patience," Alfons said.

Edward snorted. "I'd like to see you have patience when you can't see where you're going." He crossed his arms petulantly.

Alfons laughed. "Just enjoy the night breeze, Edward, and be quiet."

Edward sighed, sitting back in his seat. But Alfons was right, the night air was pleasant, a bit cool, but not intolerable, and it smelled rich of the late spring flora, trees in bloom and grass growing green again. It was actually quite nice, and Edward settled back with his eyes closed behind the blindfold. The time seemed to pass significantly faster that way than when he'd been complaining.

It wasn't long before Alfons pulled over and stopped the car. "Now can I take this off?" Edward asked. At the 'not yet', he sighed dramatically and drummed his flesh fingers against the false flesh and hard mechanics of his artificial arm. Alfons's door opened and shut, and a few moments later Edward's door opened.

"Come on, Edward. Give me your hand, unless you want to trip and fall on your face."

Edward could just see the amused smirk on his boyfriend's face even blindfolded. "Asshole," he said, holding out his hand as he turned to get out of the car.

Alfons led him away from the car, down a moderate grassy slope. Edward stumbled over a couple dips in the landscape, but stayed upright, much to his relief. He didn't need grass stains on the ass of his pants.

Finally, Alfons came to a stop. "Stay here," Alfons said, letting go of Edward's hand. Edward floundered a moment, holding perfectly still, lest he slip and fall or move into Alfons and get knocked over or something equally dumb and embarrassing.

After a moment, Alfons stepped over behind Edward, nearly knocking Edward face forward for a still as Edward had been staying. "Here," he said, unknotting the blindfold. "You can open your eyes now."

The dim night light was still enough to assault his eyes as the moon rose waning into the sky. He blinked a few times, looking around. The road behind them rose up, their car the only thing visible against the horizon line. Ahead of them, further down the slope, was a cluster of trees along the winding banks of a small creek. Bullfrogs and crickets serenaded them.

"Alfons, what- where are we and why?" He looked over at his boyfriend.

Alfons moved around to settle on the blanket he'd spread out on the ground for them to sit on. "Come sit down, you'll see why. I heard on the radio that we're in for a treat if we watch the skies, and I wanted you to see this without the city lights in the way."

Bewildered, Edward settled himself in on the blanket, watching the skies curiously. He glanced over at Alfons briefly. "Have I ever told you that you're weird?"

Alfons laughed. "Oh come on, Edward, have a sense of adventure. You'll like this, I promise, and if you don't, I'll make it up once we get home."

"I may make you make it up to me anyway, even if this does turn out to be the awesomest thing ever," Edward said with a wicked grin as he laid back, watching the stars.

Alfons turned on his side, propped up on his elbow, facing Edward. "Maybe I will. But this will be worth the wait."

Edward folded his hands under his head as he stared up at the skies. After a moment of studying the stars, he frowned. "I don't recognize any of these constellations. We have a whole different set back home."

Alfons looked over at him. "What? You don't even know where the big dipper is, or Orion?"

That got a blank look out of Edward. "What're those?"

Alfons stared at him incredulously. "You... you really are from a different world than this, aren't you? Every kid knows how to spot the big dipper."

"You're just now figuring that out? You mean the thousands of other gaffes I make a day didn't tip you off?" Edward sighed. "Or the fact that my father shares in my apparent lunacy?"

Alfons looked back up at the sky. "Honestly, I thought your father was humoring you. I wasn't sure what to make of your gaffes, as you called them. I thought something traumatic happened that affected your mind somehow. Obviously something idid/i happen, your limbs and all, but I wasn't sure what."

"You could've always asked," Edward said. "I don't keep secrets from you. Just because I haven't told you everything doesn't mean I'm hiding it."

"You kept the secret of what was wrong with your lungs at first, Edward," Alfons reminded him.

Hard to argue that point. "And I've said sorry for that. But you know, other than that, I've never lied to you. I'm from another world, from a country called Amestris. Alchemy is a working science there, not a fictional metaphysical belief system."

"So you've told me." Alfons looked back at him. "So how idid/i you lose your limbs?"

"My brother and I tried to resurrect out mother with alchemy. It cost me my leg and him his whole body. I gave up my right arm to bind his soul to a suit of armor." Edward shrugged. "I was eleven at the time, so it's been awhile. I'm used to it. Al should be out of the armor, though, and back in his own body. That's why I'm here, I traded myself over to save him again after he used up his armor using the Philosopher's Stone to save my life. We got into lots of trouble, if you can't tell."

Alfons let out a sigh. "Jesus, Edward, you're only eighteen. How the hell do you find that much trouble before you even hit adulthood?"

Edward looked over at him with a grin. "Luck." He looked back up at the sky. "So what am I watching for here?"

"You'll see- oh, wait, there's one." Alfons pointed up at the sky.

Edward tilted his head. "One what? I don't see any- oh hey." He smiled as another shooting star went streaking across the sky. "A meteor shower. Did you ever wish on these as a kid?"

"For awhile," Alfons answered, watching the sky as more stars rained down over the night. "I stopped about the time I stopped believing in God. I stopped believing in anything, really."

"I never believed in it, but I wished on them just the same. Me and Al and Winry, we used to have competitions to see who could make the most outlandish wish. They dubbed me the winner most times. Guess I have a pretty ridiculous imagination." He was quiet a moment. "God, I miss them. You and me, we're going to get back there, someday, and we can get married, and let Winry help us plan. Might get her to do something feminine for once. You'll like her, she's an engineer like you. She specializes in automail, but she likes taking apart anything she can get her hands on and then making new things out of it."

Alfons smiled, still watching the skies. "She sounds nice. What about your brother? What would he think of you wanting to marry a man?"

"He wouldn't think much of it, besides 'that explains why you could grope a woman and still not notice her,' honestly. Our world is a lot different than yours, Alfons. The church hasn't had power for centuries. Homosexuals of both genders can get married legally and no one bats an eyelash at it." Edward looked over at him. "You iwould/i want to get married, right?"

"Hm?" Alfons glanced over. "Oh, of course. I'm sorry, it's just never entered my life plan due to laws around here, so I'm ... I'm not hesitant, I just can't get used to the idea that I could somewhere. But yes, I would. It would be nice, to be legal for once." He smiled. "So is that how Edward Elric proposes, or are you just babbling again?"

Edward turned red. "I- ... both? I'm not very good at romance, you know that. Jesus."

"I know that," Alfons said, turning back to the skies. "But what's this about you groping a woman?"

Somehow, Edward managed to turn redder. "I tackled a thief one time, and we landed in a compromising position, with my hand on her breast. It was... awkward."

Alfons laughed. "Oh, Edward, leave it to you. What am I going to do with you?"

"I can think of a few things," Edward said. "Wanna head home now? I think the shower's tapering off now."

Alfons sat up. "I think so too. Let's go."

"If you blindfold me for the trip home, I will end you, Alfons," Edward warned.

Alfons laughed. "I won't, Edward, don't worry. Now get up so I can fold up the blanket."

"The German people must rise up and take back our pride! Our dignity! Our honor!" The beer hall speaker prattled on, stirring up feelings of patriotism and rebelliousness both in the natives there for drinks and the ones there to listen to this National Socialist speaker's rabble rousing.

"Alfons?" Edward looked across the table at Alfons. "Your country is full of stupid."

His boyfriend swallowed the beer he'd been in the middle of drinking before setting his stein down. "I knew that, but what brought this on? This guy? He's nuts, but he makes a point. He's going about it wrong, but unless you missed it in your otherworld haze, Germany's in dire straits. We're bullied by the French and the other Allies and we're broke. Did you happen to notice food prices?"

Edward grimaced. "I noticed them, believe me. But you have no way to fight. I'm not saying just accept it, but do something _other_ than instigate revolutions and more wars."

Alfons sighed. "Okay, that part I can't argue with. He's doing it wrong. I just wonder what you'd consider trying something other than that when we're so helpless right now."

"I don't understand the situation enough to come up with something," Edward confessed. "But it's not too different of a situation from what Yousewell was like. Much smaller scale and the details were different, but same general idea."

"Yousewell? What's that?" Alfons grinned. "Story time again?"

Edward casually flipped him off. "I am not a story teller, but yes, if you're curious, I'll tell you what happened." He set down his glass of whiskey. "Mustang sent me ahead of him out East to supposedly inspect this mine for valuable ore in a town called Yousewell. Personally, I think he intended on me cleaning house for him, the jackass."

"Now, Mustang, you've mentioned him," Alfons interrupted. "He was your... commanding officer, right?"

Edward nodded. "That's right. He'd just gotten a promotion to colonel and was being transferred to East Headquarters. He sent me ahead to inspect this mine. I get there, and the miners hate me for being military. Kick me out of the inn, even though I was fixing things for them. Turned out some military creep was running things, had the title to the mine, and he was constantly lowering pay and raising taxes. The miners were working second jobs around town just to get by, thus the inn."

Alfons set down his drink he'd been nursing while listening to Edward. "So like the Sherrif of Nottingham? Or Prince John?"

Edward looked at him blankly. "Who?"

"Never mind, just an English legend that's well known." He waved it off. "Go on."

Edward downed a drink of whiskey. "Anyway, Al gets to stay, because I told them he had nothing to do with me. No sense in us both getting kicked out to the elements. He came out to bring me some food, and this Lieutenant Yoki, the military slime? Came by to collect more taxes from Halling and his family on the inn. I step in just as Halling's kid mouths off and nearly gets himself killed by Yoki's cronies. He wasn't any too pleased until he saw my watch. Should've seen how fast he started licking my boot polish."

Alfons raised an eyebrow. "You polished your boots? That seems like more effort into your appearance than you normally put, Edward."

Once again, Edward flipped him off. "Asshole. It's a figure of speech, you know that."

Alfons laughed. "I know, I'm just teasing, Edward. Anyway, go on. What'd you do to that creep? Punch him? That seems your style."

Edward glared. "I wanted to, but this was my first official assignment for the military, I didn't need to botch it up that badly and lose my certification or something. The guy wasn't worth it. So I went up to his mansion with him, where the asshole tries to bribe me into giving a good review on the mine. I pretended to accept, but I wasn't sure what I'd really do. He'd been bribing his higher ups out there, and the whole region was pretty corrupt. If I could take down him, Mustang might have an easier time cleaning up the area so he wasn't dealing with that kind of officer."

"You actually did something nice for Mustang?" Edward scowled as his boyfriend gave him a teasing smile. "I'm shocked, I thought you hated him."

"I didn't," Edward protested. "I resented him a lot, but I didn't hate him. Hate developed later, and he ended up turning that upside down on me even later than that. Now I just miss him. He was like a father to us for a lot of years, trying to protect us from the military we served." His gaze grew distant for a few heartbeats, then he shook his head and took a sip of his drink. "Anyway, Yoki had Halling's inn destroyed that night by his pet alchemist, Lyla. She totally demolished the place. Al saved Halling's kid from the wreckage. I heard the commotion and went to see what was going on. I asked the miner why they didn't just move to another mine not owned by such a creep. I still remember what they said. 'This is our home and our grave.' I may have burned down my home, but that didn't mean everyone should be a wanderer like me."

"And here we get to what you actually did," Alfons said. "You talk a lot, Edward."

Edward glared. "Do you want me to tell you or not?" he snapped. At Alfons's nodding, he finished off his whiskey before continuing. "I took the bribe of gold coins Yoki gave me and used them to coat some slag the miners had. Offered to Yoki- if that'd been real gold, it would've been worth over a billion cens. I'd say it's worth more in marks, to give you an idea."

"You offered him _more_ money, Edward? Fake or not, that seems counterproductive." Alfons finished off his beer and glanced in the stein as if considering to get more.

"I offered it in exchange for the mine. He didn't want to look bad, accepting what amounted to a bribe for the mine's deed, so I had him sign a note saying he was giving it to me for free, and the gold was his. Before I left, when nobody was looking, I reversed the transmutation, took the deed down to the inn I'd rebuilt for them- with alchemy, before you ask, yes I cheated- and offered them the deed in exchange for one night at the inn. Yoki and his goons came to get the deed back and the miners beat the shit out of them and sent them off running for the hills."

"And so Robin Hood stole from the rich and gave to the poor and saved the day," Alfons said with a laugh.

Edward blinked. "Robin Hood?"

"Same English legend, sorry. He did the same sort of thing, but he was more blatant about his robbing and giving." Alfons stood up. "I'm going to get more, did you want another glass?"

Edward shook his head. "No, mine's more expensive and more potent. I don't need to be falling down on my way home."

Alfons laughed, then grabbed Edward's glass. "I'll take this back up, then. Try to stay out of trouble while I'm gone."

Easier said than done. Edward went back to watching the speaker boredly, trying to tune out his special brand of crazy. He ignored voices around him, until a hand clamped down on his flesh shoulder. "Hey, you. Pretty boy."

Edward looked back up at his assailant. "The fuck's your problem?" he snapped, shrugging his shoulder free of the man's hand.

The man, a large, burly sort with dark hair and eyes and smelling heavily of alcohol, narrowed his eyes. "What's the matter? Why aren't you cheering for him? You anti-German or something, you damn pretty little faggot?"

Being called anti-German, he couldn't care less about. Outside of Alfons, Edward didn't give a shit about Germany or its problems. Being called pretty was really obnoxious. Except his hair, nothing about him was 'pretty' or effeminate in any way. But being called a faggot and not denying it somehow would get a man into trouble. Edward turned in his seat. "I'm going to give you this one chance to turn around and go away and I'll pretend you never said that," he said, voice a dangerous growl. "You're too drunk to know what you're saying."

"The hell I am!" the man bellowed, grabbing Edward's shoulder again. Before he could do or say anything else, Edward was up on his feet, catching the man across the jaw with a vicious right hook, backed up by the superior strength of the machines in his arm. The man stumbled back, then leapt forward, reaching for Edward's throat. Edward ducked, slamming his left fist into the man's gut.

"If you know what's good for you," Edward said, cracking his knuckles as the other man struggled to keep his balance, "you'll back off now. I'm better than you."

The man reached forward and grabbed Edward's hair, giving it a hard yank that made Edward squawk and stumble forward. The man wrapped his oversized arm around Edward's neck, lifting him bodily off the ground. Edward flailed his legs, trying to aim a kick behind him to get free as his air supply started to wane. His lungs rebelled violently as he finally wiggled his head free and slipped down out of the man's grip, falling to his knees as a wracking cough hit him full in the chest. He spat blood.

"Gotcha, didn't I?" The man laughed entirely drunkenly. Before anything else could happen beyond Edward's coughing, someone came running over and then the sound of the man behind him landing on the ground.

Alfons knelt by Edward. "You okay?"

Edward nodded, spitting out more blood. "What happened?"

Holding out a hand to help Edward up, Alfons stood. "I hit him. He was already pretty much done for, with you wailing on him. What happened here, Edward?"

Edward stood up with Alfons's help. "He's a drunk who didn't like the fact that I wasn't cheering for Hitler over there. Or whatever his stupid name is." He wiped his chin, frowning at the blood, then down at the ground. "Jesus, it looks like I lost a tooth." He sighed. He used to be a top notch fighter, and now he couldn't even handle a bar fight without his 'condition' knocking him on his ass. "Sorry, you shouldn't have had to finish that for me." He looked at the drunk, who was out cold. "You must've really clocked him one, Alfons."

"He'll wake up eventually," Alfons said dismissively. "Come on, let's go home. Before we draw more attention."

They slipped quietly out of the beer hall, furtively stepping around the people who'd started to gather at the commotion the drunk had caused. Once free of the building and out in the autumn air, Alfons looked at Edward. "It's getting worse, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

Edward didn't answer him for a long moment, still brooding, still miserable over the whole issue before finally answering. "Yeah, it is."

Silence passed between them for a span of several heartbeats. "We'll just have to work harder to get you home, then," Alfons said. "You said medicinal alchemy can help you, right?"

"Theoretically. What're you going to do if it doesn't?" Edward looked at him.

"I'll stay there. I may not have anyone there, but I have nobody else here, either. At least there I won't have to worry about the law." Alfons shrugged like it was no big deal.

Edward frowned. "You'll stay with my family. They'll be your family. You deserve a good one. They'll take care of you."

Alfons shook his head. "I can't ask that of them, Edward."

Edward stopped and looked around for a moment, then grabbed Alfons by the collar and pulled Alfons down to face level. "My family will take care of you, Alfons. Don't make me kick your ass until you accept it."

His boyfriend stared at him, wide-eyed. "All right, all right," he said. "Let go of me. I can land a mean punch too."

"You wouldn't dare," Edward said.

"Only if you would."

For a moment, neither moved. Finally, Edward let go of his boyfriend. "We have a sick definition of foreplay, Alfons." He resumed his walk back towards their apartment. "This sucks. I hate feeling helpless."

"You're not helpless," Alfons assured him, keeping up with his boyfriend's quick pace. "We'll get you home. Your brother can fix you and everything will be fine."

They were both desperately holding onto that.


	2. Jacob's Ladder

"Boys?"

Hohenheim's voice woke them from a sound sleep. Edward fell out of bed, groping around for his boxers before pulling them on and hurrying out to see what his father wanted. "What is it?" he demanded irritably, rubbing one eye. "You'd better have a good reason for this, old man."

Hohenheim looked a bit wild-eyed, carrying a suitcase. "Both of you, pack a bag. We have to leave. The Socialists have started a revolution, and their occult group is looking for the two of us."

"Us? What? Why?" Behind him, Alfons wandered out in his sleep pants that were rarely worn but kept around for just such a situation.

"They're wanting to open the Gate," Hohenheim explained, hurrying over to the window and looking out.

"I am confused. Don't you want the Gate open to go home?" Alfons asked.

Hohenheim shook his head. "It'll take killing one of us to do it. And while I'd gladly give my life to get you two boys home, the Thule Society would not make it that easy for anyone but themselves to get through. Get packed, hurry."

Edward looked up at Alfons. "Come on, sounds like we gotta run. Give us ten minutes, Dad." He grabbed Alfons's arm and pulled him back to the bedroom.

"We're leaving? Just like that? What about the others? What about Miss Gracia?" Alfons seemed more than flustered as Edward pulled out two suitcases and threw them on the bed.

"They'll pick up the pieces," Edward said as he got dressed and started tossing clothes, a couple books and a photograph of the two of them they kept on their bedstand into his suitcase. "Come on, hurry up, get dressed and get packed. I'll let you get the lube and condoms. I'm going to go keep watch for trouble with Dad." He snapped shut his suitcase and hurried past Alfons.

"Where's Alfons?" Hohenheim looked back at Edward as he entered the living room-kitchen area.

"Still packing," Edward said, setting down his suitcase and stepping over next to his father. "What the hell's going on?"

"Have you heard of Adolf Hitler?"

"That beer hall speaker? Sure, he's a nutcase, but they all are around here. What'd he do?"

Hohenheim turned to his son. "Declared a revolution. He's down at the Bürgerbräukeller holding people hostage right now. The National Socialists all over town are seizing control of buildings and law enforcement personnel. The Thule Society has their own men looking for us in all this. If I'd had enough warning, I might've been able to use this to get you two home, but it happened too fast."

Alfons came out with his suitcase, still looking bewildered. "Where are we going?"

"Out of town, I'm not sure beyond that," Hohenheim said, moving quickly to the door. Edward grabbed his suitcase and followed after, Alfons on his heels. "By morning, the military will have wind of this and things will get messy. I want to be long gone by then."

The three ran down the stairs to Hohenheim's car. Edward grabbed the passenger seat, leaving Alfons in the back with their suitcases. As Hohenheim put the car into gear and set out down the street, Edward looked at his father. "How long are we going to be laying low?"

For a second, Hohenheim didn't answer, winding his way through the streets, avoiding areas where Nazi occupation was high as best he could. "I'm not sure, Edward," he finally answered. "I'll give things a chance to settle, then I'll start putting my ear to the ground."

It took them a harrowing hour to get around the more troubled areas of the city and out onto a country road. None of them spoke until they were out on the country roads leading away from Munich.

"Where will we go?" Alfons finally asked from the backseat.

Edward turned in his seat a bit to reach back and take Alfons's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "What about Berlin?" he asked his father. "Unless laws up there have changed, it might be the safest place for us for awhile."

Hohenheim shook his head. "No. If this putsch is successful, they'll head onto Berlin. We'll be safest finding an isolated place in the country and hoping nobody finds us."

Alfons sat forward, gripping Edward's hand tightly. "What about getting Edward home? If we hide like that, we won't be able to get him home."

"We're both going, Alfons, stop worrying about me," Edward told him.

Hohenheim was silent, driving into the dark night with only his headlights to show where the road was. "I'll keep working on what I can do," he finally said.

Edward stared at his father. He knew exactly what that meant. Having to hide was Edward's death sentence. But if the Thule Society got ahold of them, they'd quite probably die anyway, and Alfons wouldn't be safe either, not with sodomy charges hanging over their heads.

He wasn't getting home. Edward was going to die there, never seeing his brother again.

Letting go of Alfons's hand and settling back in his seat, Edward stared out the window at the road ahead, counting out his last miles silently in his head.

Edward fell asleep as they drove, lulled by the passing dark scenery and the sound of the car. He dreamed of his brother while he slept, dreamed of Rizenbul and home and his family, introducing his boyfriend to the family, everyone back together again. The presence of his mother told him he was dreaming. His cough woke him up, snapping him out of the light sleep he'd fallen into.

"Are you all right, Edward?" His father's voice chased away the remainders of sleep.

As his cough settled, he rubbed his eyes and looked around. "Where are we?"

"I'm not sure anymore," Hohenheim admitted. "We're on the back roads somewhere. I'm hoping to chance across an abandoned home. It's getting late in the year, and we can't possibly build a home before the snow comes."

"You mean a place like that?" Alfons asked, leaning forward and pointing off over Edward's shoulder.

Dark against the night sky, was a little two story house with a tree in the front yard. There was noticeable evidence of disrepair and a lack of occupancy. It wasn't too run down, though, nothing some simple carpentry wouldn't fix. The house looked remarkably like the house Edward and his brother had burned down years ago as they left home forever.

Hohenheim pulled to a stop, looking out the window at the house. He and Edward exchanged a look. "It looks suitable," he said.

Edward looked back out at the house as Hohenheim turned the car onto the grass and pulled up by the building. "It looks like home," he said. "Never thought I'd see that house again."

"What house, Edward?" Alfons asked from the back seat.

Edward waited to answer until they'd gotten out of the car. "My home back in Rizenbul. When Al and I left to take the State Alchemist test and start looking for a way to restore Al's body, we burned it to the ground so we'd have no sentimental places to pull us back and give us reason to quit."

Hohenheim looked at him with a dry expression. "So ithat's/i why you did that. I thought you were just running away."

"Bite your tongue, old man," Edward snapped.

"Enough, Edward," Hohenheim said. "Let's go inspect the place, see what furniture might be left. Hopefully, this place will turn out ideal."

Leaving their suitcases in the car, the three of them walked over to the door. Hohenheim knocked, listening for signs of anyone living there. After minute of no answer, he tested the door, finding it unlocked, and opened the door, stepping in. "Hello?" Edward and Alfons crept in after him as he called out, listening for signs of occupation. A further inspection proved the place completely empty. There were drafts that spoke of need for upkeep.

After a circuit around the place proved the house very much like Edward's old home, they returned to the main room, looking around. "It seems suitable," Hohenheim announced. "A few repairs, but with three of us working on it, we should have it livable before winter hits."

"How long will we be staying here?" Alfons asked, casting a worried glance at Edward before looking back at Hohenheim.

"I don't know," Hohenheim admitted. "We'll ride out the winter, then I'll find the nearest town and start putting my ear to the ground. Hopefully, this will blow over soon."

Alfons looked around the living room again. "Am I the only who finds the house to be creepy?" he asked. "All the furniture is still here. The beds were still made. It's like this place was just abandoned and whoever abandoned it left everything behind."

"Kinda like we did?" Edward said. "Whoever lived here probably died somewhere on property. We'll probably find remains somewhere around here while we're fixing this place up. I doubt they died in the house, at least. No smell of decay and I didn't see any evidence of it while we were searching the place."

"Small comfort, Edward," Alfons said. "This place is still creepy."

"Now boys, no arguing," Hohenheim said mildly. "Be grateful this place was here. It suits our needs perfectly. I'll find a town nearby tomorrow to buy some food. For now, we should rest. I'll let you two pick a room first. I'll get the suitcases while you two do that."

After Hohenheim had left, Edward headed up the stairs to the bedrooms. Alfons tailed after him. "It's still strange to know your father knows about us and approves," he said. "He seems completely okay with it."

Edward peeked in the first bedroom, judging its size and the bed size. "Why wouldn't he be?" he said. "My world is different from yours, Alfons. No church, remember?"

"It must be nice," Alfons commented, looking in another room. "How about this one?"

Edward stepped up behind him, looking around him. "Seems good. Dad can have the other one." He shook his head. "You know, this place is so much like my home. This room was Mom and Dad's. The other room was Al's and mine."

Alfons looked down at him. "Would you prefer the other room?"

"No. This room's bigger, and honestly, it wouldn't feel right being in that room without my brother. I know that sounds weird, but-"

Alfons put a hand on his boyfriend's shoulder. "But nothing. It doesn't sound weird. He's a big part of your life, I don't think it sounds weird at all. Now come on, let's go back down stairs and get our suitcases, and see if your father has any more bright ideas."

They headed downstairs, where Hohenheim was inspecting the few appliances- the stove, mostly. A fireplace in the living room, which was connected to the kitchen. "It looks like we'll be living the way we did with your mother, Edward," he announced as the younger Elric and boyfriend entered the room.

"I was fine with hit back then, I'll be fine now," he said. "What're we going to do about food? You're not getting your income out here, and we have no animals or garden for food for the winter."

"I have enough saved up that I took with me to get us through through the winter and invest in some seeds and animals come spring," Hohenheim said dismissively.

"Jesus, Dad, how much did you make?" Edward stared at his father.

"Enough," Hohenheim said a little evasively. "I've also been saving since before you showed up in London. The recession was hitting Britain too, Edward, so I needed every bit of money I could save in case of an emergency. Such as this. I'll get us through, don't worry. The only thing in our way is that I have no idea where the nearest town is."

"Yeah, that might be a small problem," Alfons said dryly.

"I'll go out and look around," Hohenheim said. "I woke you two up, so you should go back to bed and get rest. I'm fine a few more hours yet."

Edward scowled. "The hell, old man. I know how ungodly early you get up, you need sleep too. And I'm awake now, you may as well take advantage of it."

Alfons stepped in, cutting off an argument between two very stubborn Elric men. "I suggest we all sleep. If there turns out to be nothing near enough to be efficient, then this place is not ideal and we will spend a great deal of time looking further, something none of us have the energy for."

Hohenheim looked at Alfons, then to Edward. "Your boyfriend makes a good point. Let's all rest. No more arguing, Edward."

Edward opened his mouth to argue anyway, before catching the stern look Alfons was giving him, then shrugged. "Fine by me," he said. He grabbed his suitcase. "Don't try to skip out, Dad. You got Al's and my old room. We're stealing the bigger room."

"That's fine," Hohenheim said, and Edward suspected he was probably just as glad. It would probably be just as lonely for his father to sleep in his old room without Mom, as it would be for Edward to sleep in his old room without Al.

Suitcases were picked up and stairs were climbed. The boys bid Hohenheim good night before they all disappeared into their own rooms. Edward and Alfons changed into sleep clothes for once, curling up under the meager, dusty old blankets, pressed against each other for warmth.

Alfons was the first to speak up, after a long moment in which Edward came nowhere near falling asleep. "How long do you think this is for?"

"Shut up, Alfons," Edward said.

Alfons smacked Edward on the back of his head, then nuzzled his neck. "What's with the hostility?"

"I don't like the question." That question that had an answer of 'the rest of your life' for Edward. Unless his father pulled off a miracle out there in the middle of nowhere, Edward would be too weak to make a move like that back to Munich by the time Munich was calm enough to go back to.

Alfons was either psychic, or just could read Edward remarkably well. "You'll make it back," he said. "You're not going to die out here. You're going to go home and be healed and live until you're an old man. And I'll be there with you."

Edward sighed. "No, Alfons. That's not going to happen. We're going to be here all winter. By the time spring comes, I'll be too weak to move back to Munich, must less survive going through the Gate."

"Bullshit. I've never heard you be a pessimist," Alfons snapped, sitting up.

Edward rolled over slightly to face him. "I'm not being a pessimist. I'm being a realist. It's been progressing faster than I've let on. You know how I always squirm out of helping carrying things? That's because I can't anymore. I'm too weak."

Alfons looked horrified. "Edward- ... oh god."

Edward turned away from his boyfriend's grieving. "I'm dying, Alfons. And this is where I'll die. Just promise me something?"

"I won't let you die here, Edward. I'll make your father take us back in a week. You're still strong enough now to make it."

Edward ignored Alfons's words. "Promise me something?

"Damnit, Edward, stop that. You're not going to die."

"Promise me something?"

Alfons sighed. "You're going to keep asking me that hideous question until I answer, aren't you?"

"Yes. Promise me something?"

Alfons reached over and brushed back some of Edward's hair. "You know I'd do anything for you."

"After I'm gone, go back to my world. Tell my family. I'm sure they'll adopt you. If you can convince the old man to go with you, all the better." Edward rolled over again, eyes wet as he spoke. "Promise me. They need to know, and you need someone to take care of you." He reached is hand up and rested it over Alfons's. "They'll take care of you. You'll be safe, nobody will go after you because of me like they would here."

Alfons gripped Edward's hand tightly. "All right, Edward. I promise. But first I promise you that I'll do everything I can to get you back with me."

Edward smiled faintly, not looking back up at his boyfriend. "I know. Why don't we sleep? We'll think better in the morning."

Alfons settled in against Edward's back, holding him tightly. "Good night, Edward."

"Good night, Alfons."

"Boys?"

Edward groaned, stirring out of sleep. "Please tell me we aren't just repeating last night," he grumbled. Alfons made a noise into the pillow.

"I have breakfast!" Hohenheim's voice came again, and this time, Edward lifted his head.

"Food?"

Alfons made another noise. "Not worth it," he said. "Too cold and too comfy."

Edward pulled out of Alfons's grip and out from under the covers, the cold air hitting his chest and he doubled over with a wracking cough.

Alfons lifted his head. "You okay?"

After a few more seconds, Edward nodded. "Yeah," he said, voice strained, then he cleared his throat, restoring strength to his poor voice. "Yeah, just a bit cold. I'm going downstairs, I'm hungry. You can stay here and starve if you want."

"Ass," Alfons accused, turning over and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, reluctantly touching warm feet to the cold floor.

Edward shuffled downstairs, Alfons on his heels. "When'd you slip out, Dad?" he demanded of his father as soon as he got within sight of the elder man.

Hohenheim gave him a mild smile. "While you were sleeping," he said. "I found a town about five miles away, it should serve us nicely over the winter."

"About that," Alfons said, moving to the table as Edward and Hohenheim took their seats. "Shouldn't we consider going back sooner? Or at least checking to see if it's safe?"

"I plan to contact one of my associates in Munich next time I go into town," Hohenheim said, dishing up the food. It was all cold food, rolls and cheese and butter, but it was suitable. "For now, it's only been one day, I think we need to let it cool down a bit before we worry about that."

Edward pointedly didn't look at his boyfriend as he grabbed a couple rolls and some cheese, and stole off with the butter. Hohenheim looked as if he'd already used it, and Alfons had yet to touch anything, settling in. "I think we should go back before the winter's over even if it is still dangerous," Alfons said.

Hohenheim paused with his roll inches from his mouth, then set it down. "Why is that?"

Alfons scowled, and Edward set down his the butter knife, prepared to step in. "Your son is dying, that's why," Alfons snapped. "Unless you think you can get him home from out here, you damn well know you should get him where you can before it's too late."

Hohenheim closed his eyes. "I'm well aware of Edward's malady. He told me first. I know his time is limited, perhaps moreso than mine. And I will do my best to get the two of you back. But not at the risk of both of your lives."

For once, Alfons didn't seem inclined to back down from a fight, and he didn't seem intimidated as he normally was by Edward's father. "I don't care about my life, I care about getting Edward home before he loses his."

"I wouldn't want to go back without you," Edward said quietly, interrupting the fight before his father could say anything further infuriating.

"Edward, you have your family to get back to," Alfons protested, still angry. "I'll go with if I can, but you _have_ to go. You won't make it through the winter, you said so yourself."

"No, I won't," Edward said quietly, staring down at his plate. "But I won't get home on your blood. I'd rather die here than that. So we'll wait until either I go, or until it's safe there, whichever happens first."

"Edward, I won't-"

"That's final, Alfons!" Edward snapped loudly, glaring at Alfons. "It's what I want. I won't get home at the cost of you. Either I go back with you, or I don't go back at all. End of story. We'll trust Dad's judgment on this."

Alfons's expression softened to a worried frown, before he scowled deeper and stood up, pushing away from the table and started for the front door.

"Alfons?" Edward looked after him. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"I'm not hungry," Alfons snapped, stepping outside.

Edward sighed. "You know, before you got off in a temper tantrum?" he finished his previous question to no one in particular as he stared down at his food. After a moment, he spoke up again, not looking up at his father. "You know having to stay the winter would be a death sentence for me, right?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Edward saw Hohenheim take his glasses off and set them on the table, running a tired hand over his face. "I know, Edward. I had not intended on that when I woke you boys last night. I only wanted you out of town before they killed you trying to open the Gate. I meant what I said, I will continue to work here on how they were going to get it open. I don't have my notes, nor theirs. I only know it would require me to sacrifice myself, and I'd gladly do it."

Edward didn't know how he felt about that. Grateful, immensely so, but he was torn. He wanted his father to come with them, not to sacrifice himself to send them home. But if it had to be that way, then at least Edward and Alfons could get home.

"Do what you can," he finally said, picking at his roll. "Alfons will settle down in a little while. He's scared, that's all."

"I can't blame him," Hohenheim said between bites. "He loves you very much, Edward, and he's not as old as I am, he's not as ... accepting."

"He's not an Elric, you mean," Edward said. "I know I'm going to die. If I don't get home, I'm going to die before March hits, if I make it that long. And if it means Alfons survives and can get home in my stead, I'm fine with that. I won't leave him here, and I won't let him die just to get me home. I won't accept that sacrifice."

Hohenheim smiled. "You've grown up, Edward., into a fine young man. I'm proud of you."

Edward gave him an unsure, crooked smile. "What, because I'm suicidal?"

"Because you- you were raised in a world without religion. But perhaps you have heard the serenity prayer in this world? We used to have in ours back before the church perished. I had it memorized as a boy. I hated it then, when I thought I had the power of the gods, but I learned to embrace it as I matured."

Edward shook his head. "No, never heard of it. What is it?"

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." Hohenheim sighed. "I had to tell myself that one a lot after I left Dante, thinking I'd lost Brian for good. Then I found out he was still alive and she'd warped him into Envy, I started saying it even more. I never believed in God, but the sentiment stood."

Edward was quiet, mind turning over that little prayer. "I never was good at any of that but the courage part. You could never tell me something was impossible and I'd listen. I didn't accept it, and I couldn't always tell the difference. But I guess maybe I have learned that by now. I wouldn't have if I hadn't fallen ill. I killed myself to gain wisdom."

Hohenheim smiled. "There are gods who have done similar things, in Earth mythology. Odin All Father for one. He gave up his eye to gain wisdom."

"Whoopy shit," Edward grumbled. "Gods come back to life. I'm not going to."

"No," Hohenheim admitted, then gave him a wan smile. "But you'll die a very wise man."

"Oh goodie, just what I always wanted," Edward sulked. "I may accept my death, but I'm going to whine about it every step of the way, you know. Nobody said I had to accept it gracefully."

"I fully expect it, Edward," Hohenheim said. "Now, your husband's had a chance to calm down, I suggest you go talk to him."

Edward blinked. "What did you call him?"

"You husband," Hohenheim said. "I know you, Edward, if this were our world, you'd at least have proposed by now. Where we are, the law cannot touch us, so you may as well enjoy the freedom while you have it."

Edward looked towards the front door. "That's going to give him a heart attack. Culture shock is a bitch to go through."

Hohenheim smiled. "So get him used to the idea now before you go home and have the wedding."

Edward gave his father a sidelong look. "You just want to say you have a son-in-law before you die, don't you?"

His father looked at him blandly. "Would I do that?"

"Yes. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a spouse to placate."

Edward found Alfons outside, arms crossed either out of anger or to ward off the chill setting in as November got started. Edward stopped a few feet back from him, unsure what to say at first.

"I'm not prepared to lose you," Alfons said. "I don't think your family is either, Edward. You're special. You change a person's life just by being in it, and it's for the better. I'm sure your brother needs you, and that girl you spoke of, Winry? And even your commanding officer. They're all waiting for you." Alfons turned to face him. "And you're talking about dying here in a foreign world that hates you for being in love with the wrong person. Why?"

Edward held his gaze steady as he looked Alfons in the eye. "Because I know some things are just impossible," he said. "I learned that the hard way. I brought Mom back, but the cost was killing her. It's impossible to bring someone back to life. Maybe- imaybe/i -if Dante hadn't gotten a hold of Mom, she could've been Mom. But she wasn't, and I had to kill her before she hurt Al. It was impossible for me to use the Stone to bring back Al, not when he iwas/i the Stone. And I'm not even sure he's alive, Alfons. It may have been impossible to save him when I traded myself here. Sure, I've pulled off a lot of so-called impossible stunts, but that's why I know what is and isn't impossible. I'm too weak to make it through the Gate. It'd tear me apart. I don't like admitting it, but there you go. I fucked myself over with that fuel and now I'm paying the price for it. I'm dying, Alfons. I won't make it home."

Alfons looked down, scuffing his foot into the ground. "I'm sure as hell not telling your family about that fuel and how you did that purposely. They don't deserve that."

"No, they don't," Edward said. "But I have a few months of freedom left. You wanna know what Dad called you?"

"Hot headed?"

Edward smiled, shaking his head. "My husband. If we'd been back in my world, that'd be true. We're out of the reach of the law. So what do you say?

Alfons stared stupidly at him. "Hu- ... really? Your world would allow even that?"

Edward nodded. "Yup. And while we're out here, there's nobody to say we can't here. I kinda like the idea."

For a moment, Alfons didn't move, simply staring, then his eyes got wet and he stepped over to Edward, pulling him into a tight hug. "I do too," he whispered. "Now come on, it's cold out here, we should get inside. Your father and I will start on repairs, I want you resting."

Edward looked indignant. "I can still do some things, Alfons, I can help awhile. I'll rest when I need to." Alfons looked at him skeptically, and Edward made a face. "I can. So don't chain me to the bed yet."

That elicited a wicked grin from Alfons. "Shame, you'd look good like that."

Edward sighed, closing his eyes and flushing slightly. "You know I don't like being tied up, Alfons."

"I know. Such a shame." Alfons smiled. "Come on, let's go inside and see what brilliant plan your father's come up with."

Turning, they headed back inside. "This house is as cold as it is outside," Edward complained.

Hohenheim looked up. "Indeed. We'll have to make repairs and get firewood. Edward, how much are you capable of?"

Edward looked down at his feet. "Not much."

"All right, then. Alfons, you look like you have a strong back. Can you see about firewood?"

Alfons nodded. "Yes, sir. Do we have a hatchet?"

"I'm sure there's one out back. Let me know if there's not, I'll make a trip to town to get supplies." Hohenheim looked at Edward. "You'll be my extra pair of hands. We'll minimize the physical stress on you."

"My god, my arms hurt," Alfons said, laying on the bed on his back with his arms and legs splayed.

Edward eyed him as he stripped for bed. "That's a good look for you, stay like that."

Alfons lifted his head. "I'm in pain and you're making perverted remarks. I see how it is." He pushed himself up on his elbows, drawing his legs together, watching Edward. "You don't seem any the worse for wear from today."

Edward shrugged as he crawled onto the bed and snuggled up against his still-clothed boyfriend. "I mostly held things while Dad did the work. He babied me a bit more than I needed, but I guess it's nice not to be in your condition at the end of the day. How much firewood did you chop?"

Alfons put an arm around Edward's shoulders. "Enough to get us through the week. I feel like a giant bruise. And I gotta do this again tomorrow."

Edward kissed Alfons's sore shoulder. "It'll get easier the more you do it." Alfons made a whining noise. Edward smiled. "Big baby. I used to do much more than that on a daily basis."

"Yeah, I know," Alfons said, breaking way to strip for bed. "I saw the muscle definition. I thought you could bench press me."

"How much do you weigh?" Edward asked, crawling under the covers and watching his husband with interest.

"About a hundred and eighty," Alfons answered, crawling back into bed, under the covers.

"Then yes, I could've," Edward said. "But it's awkward to press humans, so I wouldn't have. Not that I can anymore." He sighed in frustration.

Alfons pet his hair. "I know, Edward, it bothers you. But as soon as we get you home and healed, you can work on it again."

Edward didn't believe in that miracle, but he didn't say anything. Not that he didn't believe in miracles, just that he knew his body, he could feel it shutting down too fast for them to do anything about. He cuddled up to Alfons nuzzling and kissing his neck.

Alfons made a pleased sound, then looked at Edward out of the corner of his eye. "What're you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Edward said. "I'm trying to do foreplay."

Alfons pulled away and looked at him. "Are you sure you're up for this?" he asked. "The last few times we've tried, you've had coughing fits as a result."

Edward scowled, then flopped down on his pillow. "You're right," he muttered. "I keep hoping I won't."

Alfons pulled him into a hug, smoothing back his hair. "I know, Edward. We'll get home and fix this and then we can try this again. Promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Edward warned.

"I'm not," Alfons assured him.

Edward gave him a solemn look, then shrugged and huddled down into Alfons's embrace. "If you say so," he finally said.

"Come on, Edward, let's get to sleep," Alfons said. "You'll feel strong with rest."

Edward counted off a half an hour in his mind as he waited for Alfons to fall asleep before carefully extracting himself from the bed and dressing into his sleep clothes and heading downstairs.

His father was still up, sitting in front of a dying fire. The old man looked up at Edward's approach. "Couldn't sleep, Edward?"

Edward shrugged, sitting down on a chair next to his father. "Felt a coughing fit coming on. Didn't want to wake Alfons."

"It's getting worse, isn't it?" Hohenheim didn't look away from the fire when he asked.

Edward stared at the dying embers. "Yeah," he finally replied quietly. "I can't do much strenuous anymore. It's depressing."

Hohenheim got a knowing smile. "Had to turn Alfons down tonight?"

Edward felt his face flush hot as he cast a baleful scowl at his father. "Other way around, but it's not your business."

After a few minutes of silence, Hohenheim sighed audibly. "Oh, Edward. I wish I could say for certain I was getting you home."

"I know," Edward said. "I've kinda accepted that this is where I'm going to die. As long as you get Alfons there."

"That I can promise you," Hohenheim said. "Are you going to send a letter back with him to your brother?"

That was something Edward hadn't thought of. "Probably should," he said. "Have some other letters to write, too."

"Oh?" Hohenheim finally looked away from the fire. "To whom?"

"Mustang," Edward answered. "Winry and Grandma. And Teacher, assuming she's still around. I got a lot of apologies to make."

"You're doing better than I did," Hohenheim said, looking back at the burning embers somberly. "I should've left a letter for you boys to read when you were older. I figured your mother would be around to explain it to you."

"You couldn't have known," Edward said dismissively. "I'll work on those letters after we get this place fixed up. It's still cold here."

"We'll have this place fixed up by the end of the week, I suspect. And your husband should have enough wood chopped by that time to get us through for awhile."

"You're going to kill him," Edward said with a suppressed grin.

"He's a strapping young man, he can handle it," Hohenheim assured him with a bland smile. The smile softened into something more genuine. "You do have good taste, Edward. He's a loyal, kind young man. I wish I'd always had your taste."

Edward looked over at him. "You did fine with Mom."

Hohenheim took off his glasses and started cleaning them, squinting at the embers. "I improved, yes."

"You're talking about Dante then." Not a question, more of a statement.

"I am," Hohenheim said, putting on his glasses. "I used to be just as bad, if not worse than her. I made her how she is. Was."

"What changed?"

In the fire place, the embers faded to almost nothing, leaving the room increasingly cold. "My son. I realized I was not the sort of man I'd be proud to call father, so I changed for him."

Edward looked down at his hands. "He meant a lot to you, didn't he?"

"He did, yes." Hohenheim glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "But no more than you do, Edward."

Edward tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. "Since when did you become a mind rea-" He was interrupted by a wracking coughing fit that shoved him off his chair and onto the floor. He curled up on his side as his father practically fell to his side, rubbing a soothing hand on his back.

"Easy, Edward, breathe," Hohenheim said as Edward rode out the cough, struggling to breathe as his lungs stuttered then hacked again. Finally Edward spat out some blood and bloodied tissue, leaving him gasping for air.

Hohenheim pulled his son- much lighter than he used to be, with the loss of muscle mass- into his arms and held him as another coughing fit struck. "It's okay, Edward, focus on breathing. This will pass."

Edward coughed up more blood, spitting it out onto Hohenheim's arm. Hohenheim petted his hair, shushing him. "It's okay, Edward. You'll make it through this."

Taking a shuddering breath, Edward stared tiredly off at the chairs beside them. "No, I won't," he said quietly. "I'm going to die drowning in my own blood."

Hohenheim sighed. "I know, Edward. Believe me, I know. I'm dreading it as much as anyone here. I've watched one son die in a horrible manner, I don't relish seeing another die. But for now, you'll get through this and we'll make it through the winter. In a few days, I'll contact my friends in Munich, assuming they're still there, and find out what's going on. Maybe fate will be on our side for once."

Edward didn't believe that. Some deep part of him knew exactly what was going to happen. Even if the Putsch failed, the Thule Society would still be looking for them, and the only way Edward and Alfons would stay safe was in hiding. Where Edward would die. It was that same part of him that knew when he assured Russell and Fletcher that he'd be back, that Al was all right, but Edward would not be coming back up those steps. He'd sensed his own death back then, and he sensed it now.

Edward drew back, noticing the blood stain on his father's coat sleeve. "Shit, I'm sorry, I-"

"It's fine, Edward," Hohenheim said quickly. "Come on, you should go to bed. Too much excitement isn't good for you. I'll clean up the mess, you go to sleep."

"Edward?" Alfons stood at the base of the stairs, wide eyed and haphazardly dressed. "Jesus, are you okay? When'd you leave the bed?" He moved to crouch next to Hohenheim and Edward.

Edward waved him off. "I'm fine," he said, forcing himself to sit up away from his father and push himself up onto his feet.

Alfons moved to help him, gripping his arm tightly. "Come on, Edward, you need rest." He glanced around, frowning. "Mister Elric, do you want help cleaning up?"

Hohenheim shook his head, standing as well. "I can get it, you tend to Edward."

Alfons nodded, leading Edward towards the stairs. Edward shook his head. "I need a drink That shit tastes nasty."

"Okay," Alfons said, shifting direction for the kitchen. He pulled out a glass and poured Edward some water. "Here."

Edward took the glass gratefully and took a drink, swishing the water around his mouth before spitting out the remaining diluted blood in his mouth, then took a swallow to rinse down the taste. "Ugh. This shit needs to kill me faster so I can stop tasting this shit."

Alfons smacked the back of Edward's head. "Don't even joke about that, Edward," he snapped. "Now come on, let's go back to bed."

Edward dutifully let himself be led back upstairs, pointedly not looking as Hohenheim cleaned the blood off the floor. "Good night, Dad," he said quietly.

"Good night, Edward. Try to sleep well."

"Yeah." Edward headed upstairs with Alfons towing him along with a firm grip on his arm.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Alfons asked as they got back to their room.

Edward shrugged. "You were asleep, I wasn't. I could hear Dad downstairs, so I figured I'd have company and you could sleep."

"When you're sick like that, I don't want to sleep," Alfons told him, fussing over him and tucking him into bed, despite Edward's weak protests.

Once Alfons was settled in on the other side, Edward turned on his side to face him. "You'll never sleep again then," he said. "At least not until this is over."

"Then I'll stay up the next few months until we get home and heal your lungs," Alfons said, pulling Ed tightly against him.

Edward sighed, closing his eyes to keep them from tearing up at the frustration. He knew he was dying, and Alfons's stubborn belief that he'd be healed just made it harder. "You'll get your sleep, or I'll have Dad tie you to the bed."

"Won't work," Alfons insisted. "My worry will keep me awake."

"No, it won't, Alfons," Edward said. "Your body will shut down if you need sleep. So don't push yourself for my sake."

"I'll do anything for your sake, Edward," Alfons said, scowling. "I love you."

Edward gave him a weak smile, then kissed his lips, nibbling lightly. "And I love you. But I don't want us both suffering."

Alfons sighed. "Edward, you have no choice in your matter, but I have a choice in mine. It's my decision to make. I'll stay up with you as long as I can, okay?"

Edward made a displeased noise in the back of his throat, then settled down sulkily in Alfons's arms. "Stubborn bastard."

"Damn right," Alfons said, yawning. "Now sleep, Edward."

Edward nodded, closing his eyes and drifting off.

_Colonel Jackass,_

_I'll have you know I'm now as tall as you, more or less, so you better not be saying anything about how I'm so tiny I fell through the cracks and got lost._

Off to a good start, Edward thought, hunched over the table a month later. His father had procured some blank paper for Edward's letters. Alfons hadn't liked it, but Edward had told him to fuck off about it, essentially, and Alfons had taken the hint and left Edward to his privacy and went to chop more wood, to his shoulders' protests.

Edward glanced at the window, looking out to where Alfons was working and his father was helping him, and felt genuinely useless.

Well, he could get these letters done so that Alfons had something to take back with him when Edward's father sent Alfons home.

_I don't know how much Alfons has said by the time you read this, or how much you've figured out. But as much as I hated admitting it, you weren't exactly dumb as a rock despite pretending to be, so I think you know why you're reading a letter from me._

Edward sighed. "Yeah, that I died like a dumbass," he muttered. "God, Alfons, never tell them I did it purposely. Al would flip."

_I'm sorry it didn't work out for me to deck you in person for all those years of short jokes. But if you're reading this, then it means Alfons made it safely to Amestris, which is the important thing. Where he's from, he could go to jail for who he is. And who he is, well, Mustang, meet my husband. Yeah, I met somebody on the other side of the Gate, and you're looking at him. And it's crazy over there. Religion's the ruling power. Picture Liore on a global scale. It's a crime to love someone of the same gender. He was disowned by his family for it._

_So I have a favor to ask, and I'm sorry I'm in no position to offer you an equivalent exchange for it, but could you take care of him, watch out for him for me? He's safe here in Amestris, at least from what I remember, if nothing's changed since then. He's my family._

_And he's got another letter, and this is another favor I have to ask you. Could you give it to Al, please? I hate asking this of you more than anything, but it has to be done._

Edward stopped writing to tend to a coughing fit, dropping the pen and nearly spilling ink all over the paper as he turned away, coughing into a handkerchief is father procured for him.

When the blood and rotted tissue finally made its way out, he frowned, making a face at the taste, then grabbed the glass of water by him and took a couple swallows. "Ugh."

Another sigh, and he looked back at the paper, picking up the pen and staring at it blankly. How to say everything he wanted to say in one little letter? Something did occur to him, though, staring out the window at a frustrated and sweaty Alfons.

_And please don't blame Alfons. He blames himself enough as it is, and it's not his fault. I was the one who screwed up and got exposed to the toxic fumes of the rocket fuel the research group I was in was working on. That's what got me, eventually. It destroyed my lungs. And Alfons thinks it should've been him, but it's not his fault._

Now. One last thing. To say thank you for everything Roy did over the years. How to fit that into ... anything. There was too much to thank for, too much to say. And he'd have to be brief about it.

_One more thing. It took me a while to grow up enough to understand it, but thank you. Thank you for being there for both Al and I when we were growing up, even when we didn't think we needed you there. We did. I sure as hell did. I've made my amends and peace with the old man over here, he's here too, but he was my father. You were my dad. Thank you for being one even though I suspect you never had any intention of that when you invited me to Central to become a State Alchemist. And by the end, even though I still wanted to deck you, you were also my friend. Never doubt that._

_Take care of my family, Roy. They're your family now._

_- Ed_

Tears of frustration and regret threatened. He'd never make it home to tell these things in person, and that hurt. It congealed in his chest like a bloodied coughing fit, hurt like a knife. He swallowed tightly. But there was no help for it now.

He composed similar letters for his teacher and Winry and Grandma, and - after a moment of stupid realization - one for Russell, telling him to not blame himself. Stupid idiot probably would.

The last letter haunted him. Al. Precious, wonderful, needed, loved Al. How to apologize to the one person whose heart would break the most? Words didn't seem enough.

Edward got up and paced around a bit. Walked back to the table and grabbed his water glass, taking it to the kitchen and getting more. Set it back down on the table. Paced some more. Settled back down on the couch in front of the table and stared at the blank paper.

He went through a couple scraps before he found his words. They didn't feel like enough, but there they were.

_Dear Al,_

_First of all, I love you. And I never stopped looking for a way to get home to you. I'm so sorry I couldn't._

_I know telling you not to cry is useless. It would've been useless to me if our positions had been reversed, so I won't ask it of you._

_What I will ask, is a couple things._

_One, please accept my husband and don't blame him. He blames himself enough, and he needs a family right now as much as you do._

_Two, don't you dare try to bring me back. I wouldn't be happy, living as a homunculus, and you wouldn't let me try if you were the one that was gone. Just... remember the time we did have together. Had the time of my life with you, even if it wasn't all good. I wouldn't have traded it for anything._

_I love you, Al. Even after I'm gone, I still love you._

_With all my heart,_

_Edward_

His vision blurred as he looked at his last goodbye to his brother. "I'm sorry, Al," he whispered as his vision cleared as the gathering tears made their way down his face. He carefully set the letter aside so he didn't run the ink and laid down on the couch, working on not crying. Not out of some thought that he shouldn't cry; he should by all rights. He was dying and would never see his precious little brother again. But crying meant not being able to breathe, which led to coughing fits. He'd just had one, he didn't want another one.

Finally satisfied that he wasn't going to go into another fit, Edward sat up and put the letters into sealed envelopes, scribbling the names of who they were for on the front. He stared at them blankly for a moment, looking at his goodbyes to the people he loved back home. It felt so final, like all he had to do now was wait to die.

Edward got up and walked to the window, watching his father and Alfons work. He coughed a little, catching their attention by accident. Alfons waved with a smile, while Hohenheim merely gave him a small smile. Edward smiled in return, then coughed some more. And more. Another fit wracked his body and he doubled forward, smashed his head against the window and fell back onto the floor, coughing hard.

The door slammed open and both his husband and father were at his side within seconds. "Edward!" Alfons said worriedly, brushing back hair over his forehead. Edward would wince, if he weren't so busy coughing.

"Alfons, get his handkerchief off the table, then get a wet cold rag," Hohenheim ordered, then carefully put a hand Edward's shoulder. "Easy, Edward, easy."

Easy. Right. Edward's world was a haze of red as his lungs burned, convulsed painfully and his throat felt raw as blood gurgled in the back of it, not quiet ready to come out, choking him.

Alfons returned with what Hohenheim ordered him to get. His father gently padded the warm rag against his forehead, which Edward realized was bleeding, while Alfons placed Edward's handkerchief in front of his mouth. "Come on, Edward, spit it out," Alfons said quietly. "You'll feel better for it."

It took several seconds before Edward was able cough up the crap in his throat and he took a shuddering breath, then coughed ineffectively a few more times. His father continued to gently press the rag against his forehead.

"What happened?" Edward asked hoarsely.

"You smacked the window pretty hard," Alfons said. "Your foreheads's bleeding."

"Oh." Edward blinked.

"Edward, wake up, stay with us," Hohenheim's voice said through the fog.

Edward opened his eyes. How long had his eyes been closed? He could've sworn all he'd done was blink. "I'm here."

"Let's move him to the couch," Hohenheim said. "He'll only be dizzy if he stands."

It took only one of them to lift him, although Edward wasn't sure which one. One of the men picked him up, cradled him in his arms, and took him to the couch, where he was laid down and covered with a blanket.

"He's getting weaker," Hohenheim noted, and his voice sounded very close, so Edward presumed it must've been his father that carried him over.

"It's moving fast, isn't it?" Alfons said with a note of grief in his voice.

Hohenheim sounded a bit more pragmatic, but the same concern was there. "Yes, it is. I suggest we start leaving him to sleep down here in front of the fire. The cold is getting too much for him."

"We'll carry our bed down then," Alfons said.

Through hazy vision, Edward saw his father turn his head and look at Alfons over his shoulder. "The couch should do fine."

Alfons shook his head. "I don't want him sleeping alone. Someone should sleep with him in case he needs something. I'll move the bed down, stay down here with him."

"Well, he is your husband, I'll let you make the decisions. Would your sense of privacy be violated if I slept on the couch to also be at hand?"

"No," Alfons said. "That would probably be optimal."

"Guys?" Edward's word was slurred faintly from the concussion and the fatigue of the coughing fit. "Right here. Stop that."

"We didn't forget you were here, Edward," his father assured him. "We're simply making plans. No, you don't get input, this is for your health."

"Mm." Edward felt himself drifting off.

"Sleep, Edward," his father told him. "We'll handle the bed."

Edward thought he made a noise of assent, as he fell into a light sleep. He opened an eye everytime his father and Alfons came down with a component of his bed, and he wanted to protest that this was silly, he could still climb stairs, after all, although that was a lie, he had trouble doing that now. And it'd be nice to sleep by a warm fire instead of freezing and coughing as a result.

"Watch it," Hohenheim said as they carried down the frame.

Edward opened his eyes again, although his lids were reluctant to let him do so. "Want some help?" he offered.

"No," Alfons said sternly as they maneuvered down the stairs and around the corner to a spot within reach of the couch and near the fire. "We have it. Go back to sleep, Edward."

So he did.

Edward coughed hard, wet and when he was was, his breath rattled painfully. He looked over at Alfons from where he lay on the bed. "Keep reading," he said hoarsely, still choking on blood. He slowly, weakly grabbed his handkerchief and spit into it, taking with it some of the blood in his throat.

Alfons watched him in concern. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You look ready to fall asleep."

"I'm not," Edward insisted. "Just a bit tired, but I'm bored if you don't read."

"And we all know how dangerous a bored Edward Elric is," Alfons said, rolling his eyes. "I have a feeling you'd get up and kick my ass if I stopped."

"Ever the optimist." Edward coughed again, a wracking, heaving, stutteringly painful cough that left blood in his mouth and dribbling out of his lips.

Alfons reached across him and grabbed Edward's bloodied handkerchief and held it over Edward's mouth. "Spit, Edward, get it out."

Edward tried, but it remained stuck, as he slowly began to choke and drown in his own blood.

"Mister Elric?" Alfons called frantically.

Hohenheim left whatever he was working on in the kitchen and hurried over, taking up a place on the other side of Edward. "Come on, Edward, get it out," he said. "Let's get him on his side, get gravity working with him."

Edward felt himself bodily turned, and a bit of the blood cleared, making its way out of his mouth and onto the pillow. It wasn't enough though, as he continued to drown, gasping for air that couldn't make it into his damaged lungs. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he desperately tried to call for help, to hack out the blood and tissue blocking his bronchials and larynx, blocking air.

His vision was fading as his body began to convulse, now unable to even draw a breath to cough it out. He heard Alfons's and Hohenheim's desperate voices, could feel a strong hand patting his back to try to loosen the gunk.

"Don't you dare leave me," Alfons said from down the other end of a tunnel. "I love you, don't you leave me."

Then his vision faded to white.


End file.
